


let's find the key and turn this engine on

by cherryvanilla



Category: Incep
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-26
Updated: 2011-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:51:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t wanna let you go till you see the light.” Written for the harlequincepted theme: Fake Dating</p>
            </blockquote>





	let's find the key and turn this engine on

**Author's Note:**

> I forgot this story existed. Title and Summary stolen from a true guilty pleasure: Take Me Home Tonight by Eddie Money. Beta by bookshop.

_NOW_

“Jesus christ,” Arthur moans, thrashing against the bed sheets. Eames has two fingers crooked in his ass; he has for about five minutes now. He’s been alternating with his tongue and Arthur isn’t sure he can handle much more. Eames’ head slides up again, pausing to mouth along Arthur’s thigh before pushing his tongue deep back inside. Eames’ fingers scrape along the flushed skin of Arthur’s ass and his moan vibrates up to Arthur’s dick. Arthur palms himself absently, spreading his legs wider. Then Eames’ fingers are in him again, rough and insistent and Arthur slides the foot flat up along the bed sheets and gasps, “now.”

Eames releases a guttural moan and is on Arthur instantly, kissing him hungrily whilst fumbling for the condoms Arthur placed on the bed side about fifteen minutes earlier. “Sorry, can’t wait,” Eames groans as he sits back on his thighs and rolls on the condom.

“Don’t fucking apologize, jesus, just..” and Arthur can’t even look at Eames like this or he may lose it. So he makes himself useful and squeezes some extra lube on the condom. Eames hisses and then he has Arthur’s leg snug over his arm, bent at the knee, and is guiding himself inside. Arthur lets loose a soft moan and tugs Eames up so they’re kissing. Arthur feels every inch of Eames sink into him, feels his ass yield and then clench with pleasure around the intrusion. Arthur can’t believe Eames still has the fucking shirt on; can’t believe this is actually happening.

Eames lets go of Arthur’s leg, his balls flush against Arthur’s ass and holds still for a moment. His mouths his lips across Arthur’s, barely moving. “Hang on,” he pleads and Arthur nods but turns his face away to take a deep gulping breath. Eames trails kisses along his neck and moans softly. “You’re so fucking tight,” and normally Arthur would roll his eyes at the generic porn in that statement, but this is Eames saying it, and fuck if it doesn’t make Arthur’s cock leap against Eames’ stomach.

He can feel Eames’ grin against his skin and decides to wrap his legs around Eames’ back, pulling him a fraction of an inch deeper.

“Oh my god,” Eames groans and finally begins to move. “Arthur. When you were dancing tonight… oh fuck, you..” Eames is babbling, his eyes are blown wide and his lips are trembling.

Sweat is rolling down Arthur’s spine, his chest, his forehead, and fuck, he needs Eames closer. Arthur grabs him by the back of the neck, pulls his hair and forces him to move. Eames does; he pulls back halfway and slams forward, his hips snapping with fluidity.

Arthur cries out wordlessly and trails his ankles higher on Eames’ back until Eames pulls all the way out, grabs Arthur’s legs, and places them on his shoulders. Then he slams back in and Arthur shakes with every stroke against his prostate. His toes curl and he pants in time with the sounds of the rattling bed frame and Eames’ balls slapping hard and heavy against his ass. Arthur touches his cock, strokes a few times before he gives up on finding a rhythm. He just needs to lose himself in this; he knows he’ll come. Eames’ eyes alternate from closed to staring intently at Arthur.

“You’re fucking incredible,” Eames whispers, pushing Arthur’s legs forward until they are practically flush with his own arms. Eames kisses him, open-mouthed and panting with no coordination. “So bloody flexible,” Eames mumbles, punctuating his point with a bite to Arthur’s knee. “It turned you on, didn’t it? My being possessive over you. Fucking say it, please.” Eames’ voice is strangled and desperate. Arthur’s never seen him this far gone and knowing he’s doing this to Eames causes pre-cum to leak from his cock.

Arthur bites his lips and feels his breathing hitch “You know I was hard,” he answers, annoyed. He grapples for anything he can reach: the bed sheet, Eames’ forearms, Eames’ shoulders, fucking anything. He rolls his hips up to meet Eames on every stroke. “Harder, god dammit,” Arthur gasps. Eames looks at him, eyes wide with arousal. “Eames. Fuck me into oblivion.”

“Oh, fuck,” Eames whispers brokenly. He pulls out and just before he thrusts back in, Arthur places hands on his shoulders. “Wait. Take off the condom.”

Eames’ eyes narrow. “Arthur..”

Arthur shakes a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. “Are you clean?”

“Yeah.”

Arthur nods, “Then just do it. I wanna feel you,”

Eames grabs his face in his hands and kisses him desperately. “Who the hell are you, anyway?” Eames murmurs with wonder. And then, “yes, _god_ , yes.”

Eames tosses the condom carelessly to the floor, bends Arthur’s legs back so his knees are next to his head, pausing to murmur, “good christ.”

“Eames.”

Arthur waits until Eames’ unfocused eyes find his. “It turned me on more than you know,” Arthur whispers; the words feel raw and unfamiliar on his lips but he doesn’t want to take them back.

Eames’ mouth drops open slightly. Something flickers in his gaze and then he’s snapping his hips harder, faster, nipping at Arthur’s lips until they’re raw as they both gasp out how fucking amazing this feels. When Arthur comes he nearly passes out, but not before he feels Eames slam into him harder than he ever has before and not before he hears Eames scream his name.

 _THREE WEEKS EARLIER_

“Of course the dream is set in a gay club. After all, the mark is gay,” Arthur said, his voice dripping with condescension.

“I’m not perpetuating stereotypes,” Cobb argued. “The client revealed Jones frequented them when he was younger and suspects he is again.”

Arthur’s scowl remained in place. “And just who is our client again?”

“He’s Jones’ partner.”

Arthur groaned loudly and rested his head on his folding chair. “We go from corporate espionage to inception to a suspected infidelity gig? Really, Cobb.”

“I’m easing my way back in, what do you want me to say?”

Arthur leaned his head back and let out a large sigh. He snuck a glance at Eames, who merely watched the exchanges with amusement. This made him even pissier. “And another thing: just because Eames and I fuck men is no reason to stick us on this gig.”

Cobb just gaped at him. “Honestly, Arthur, you and I need to have a serious discussion regarding the type of person you think I am. You’re not on the gig because you’re gay. You’re on it because you’re Jones’ type and Eames will have to forge the client. If Jones had a thing of blonde men in their mid-thirties, then *I’d* be playing bait. Now, back to the task at hand. The endgame is for Jones to pick you up, and Eames as Parker will confront him so we can undercover how Jones would react. Then we report back to Parker and he makes his own decisions from there.”

Arthur scowled further. “You seem to be rather defensive there, mate,” Eames, finally, said.  
“Thank you for that, Eames,” Arthur rolled his eyes and forced himself to look at Ariadne, whose look told him she agreed with Eames.

“Whatever, it’s fine.” But it wasn’t, because all Arthur had been thinking since Cobb said the words ‘gay club’ was being in a space with Eames which would naturally require tight clothing and dancing, and even if he and Eames wouldn’t be interacting much, Arthur would still have to put up with it all until he forged. And he wasn’t sure how he could handle it.

 _TWO HOURS AND FORTY ONE MINUTES EARLIER_

Parker definitely had every right to suspect Jones. The man might have been in his 50’s but from Arthur’s vantage point (which was unfortunately from the interior of an embrace) he was as horny as a teenager. Jones pushed his hips insistently at Arthur and tried to drag him off the dance floor. Arthur attempted to dislodge him but Jones was persistent and soon had Arthur up against the wall near the bathrooms. Arthur spared a sad thought for Parker, even though this was hardly a trusting way to go about confronting your partner of 25 years.

A minute later, Arthur revised his opinion; Parker was better off, even if they had shared half a life-time together. Because Jones pushed his body against Arthur’s and roughly fucked his mouth with his tongue and gripped him so tight he could feel the bruises. Although Jones was strong, Arthur could pin him in five seconds flat. There was aggression and there was domination and maybe Arthur could get into the latter but not with this guy who was balding and had a bit of a paunch.

Still, Arthur wasn’t one to screw up a mission just because the mark was slobbering all over him and manhandling his body. But he also wasn’t some two-bit whore and was seriously on the verge of saying fuck the job because really, where the fuck was Eames already? Arthur struggled against Jones weakly and his voice cracked with a soft noise of protest until he felt the body against his yanked away. Arthur closed his eyes and thought, ‘about fucking time.’ Except it wasn’t Eames as Parker who’d hauled off Jones. It was just Eames.

“Mind telling me what you’re doing with my boyfriend?”

Arthur felt his mind reel and watched the scene play out before him in slow motion: Eames snarled at Jones, fist in his shirt, other arm raised to strike. Jones huffed out that Arthur never mentioned anything about having a boyfriend and he’d press charges if Eames were to make good on that raised threat.

Eames shoved at Jones and spat, “You’re a right twat and you deserve everything that’s coming to you.” Then he moved into Arthur’s space and raised a hand to his cheek. “You okay?” But he didn’t give Arthur time to answer, probably didn’t want him to. Instead, he kissed Arthur gently and with more care and thought than Arthur would have ever expected of Eames. At the first touch of Eames’ lips, Arthur’s eyes drifted shut and his fingernails curled into palms of his hands.

Eames' breath was warm and his lips pliant. Arthur felt Eames’ fingers against his cheeks, stroking gently. Eames’ tongue brushed against Arthur’s lips but didn’t demand entry.

“Arthur,” he whispered, barely audible. It was Eames’ voice that did him in – Eames’ voice that caused him to think nothing other than _ohfuck **Eames**_ and _mouth_ and _nowrightnow_. And fuck if Arthur was going to stand idly by and not respond the way he’s been dying to for ages. He inched his tongue out to meet Eames’ and swallowed Eames’ startled gasp. But he could tell himself he wasn’t doing it – because it was a dream, after all, right? So it wasn’t Arthur who shuddered at the sound of Eames’ voice. It wasn’t Arthur deepening the kiss to the point of tongue-fucking frenzy. Arthur didn’t claw at the back of Eames’ head. Arthur certainly didn’t grind his fully hard cock against Eames’. He didn’t arch his back when he felt Eames’ dick in response, heavy against his thigh and the feel the tight denim leaving no room for imagination. He absolutely wasn’t the one to moan in the back of his throat. And Arthur most definitely wasn’t the one who thought, dizzy with lust and red warning signs exploding behind his eyeballs, “finally.”

This was fine. It was the dreamscape and Eames was playing the part of the dutiful boyfriend who’d just seen his partner get harassed by an older man. And after such an event the boyfriend versions of Arthur and Eames would naturally grind against one another in public with sharp thrusts of hips and urgent fingertips. There was nothing out of the ordinary here. No reason to raise alarm over the way Eames sighed into his mouth, pulled him closer, and ran a hand down Arthur’s chest only to curve it around Arthur’s bare hip, thumb applying just enough pressure to make Arthur’s knees buckle.

When the music in the club shifted to Edith Piaf, Arthur nearly whimpered in protest. Within seconds, he was awake. Cobb and Eames were already screaming at each other, and Arthur couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

 _TWENTY SEVEN MINUTES EARLIER_

“You shouldn’t have done it,” Arthur repeated for the fifth time.

“Bugger off already, he was a fucking cunt. And anyway, we got what we needed. Parker is with a cheating arse who preys on sweet, young pieces of ass, willing or not. And Cobb will tell him as much.”

“You deviated from the script,” Arthur ground out, his voice pinched and tight with a mix of anger and embarrassment, when they came to a stop at the door of his hotel room.  
Eames spun him around so his back was against the door. His eyes were hard. “Damn straight I did. And I’d do it again in a second.”

Arthur shoved at him but Eames refused to budge. “I’m not your fucking boyfriend.”

Eames eyes softened instantaneously. “Not for lack of trying on my part,” he murmured.

“Oh please,” Arthur shrugged off the words and vehemently ignored the quickening of his pulse. “And I don’t need saving, goddammit.”

Eames was still looking at him with an odd expression that looked far to close to admiration. “Of course you don’t. You’re the most bloody capable man I’ve ever encountered.”

Arthur’s mouth worked.

Eames moved closer. “Did you happen to consider, that perhaps I was jealous? Jealous he had his hands on you, and fucking pissed at the way he was making you feel, like some caged animal, but jealous nonetheless.”

“Eames,” he warned.

Eames leaned in and pressed a kiss to the hot, sweaty skin of Arthur’s neck. They were wearing the club clothes; it had been Eames’ idea to make it more authentic, although Arthur suspected other reasons. “I don’t make you feel like that, do I?”

It wasn’t exactly a question. Arthur inhaled sharply.

“You just have to say you don’t want this,” Eames whispered, and licked a slow line up to Arthur’s jaw.

 _THREE HOURS EARLIER_

Arthur was wearing tight black jeans, a silver studded belt, and a short black shirt with a red heart off-center. It cut far too tight at his biceps and rode far too high on his stomach. His hair was loose and he felt it brush against his temples with every movement of his body. He wanted to shoot someone for this outfit. Or possibly just himself.

“You look undeniably fuckable,” Eames whispered after shifting to the space Arthur was dancing. Arthur felt Eames’ eyes drag over him, lingering on the space where the bare skin of his hips jutted out above the belt. His voice was throaty and ragged and Arthur felt his face heat and his cock pulse.

“How can you even say that? This shirt is ridiculous.”

“On the contrary, I think our Ariadne did wonderfully with the wardrobe assortment.”

“You would,” Arthur snorted.

Eames was suddenly standing right in front of him, his hands low on Arthur’s hips.

“Stop talking and dance with me.”

“Eames,” Arthur started, but Eames raised a finger to his lips and began to move them to the persistent _thumpthumpthump_ of the music.

Arthur felt the heat of Eames’ thighs, the roughness of his fingertips as they brushed against his bare skin. Eames pulled them closer together and snaked his hand around to palm Arthur’s ass. Arthur felt a shiver run up his spine and cleared his throat. “Seriously, Eames, this is unprofessional. I have to keep my eye on the mark.”

“Arthur,” Eames replied, his voice a deep growl. “I’m simply making the dreamscape more realistic. You see, someone who looks like me, in any universe, would undoubtedly hit on someone who looks like you.”

Arthur felt a jolt of electricity along his cock and forced himself to push Eames away. “Go get yourself some ridiculously colorful drink and wait for the signal.”

Eames leaned in close and sighed dramatically in his ear. “If I must.” He pinched Arthur’s ass and headed toward the bar. Arthur resolutely did not watch his ass when he walked away or think of how that tight blue denim accented Eames’ thighs. And he didn’t think about that white mesh (fucking _mesh_ ) cut-off shirt that was pulling at Eames in all the right places.

It was going to be a long night.

 _FIVE MINUTES FROM NOW_

“Bloody hell.”

“Uh. Yeah, that.” Arthur’s chest cannot stop heaving.

Eames laughs, a deep rumble in his chest. “No brain function hmm? Perfect,” Eames grins, looming over Arthur’s face. His hair is sticking to his brow, shiny with sweat. His mouth is swollen red, lips fuller than should be legally allowed and his pupils are wide and dark. “I, on the other hand, am trying to determine what one says after the best shag of their life. All I can come up with is: you’re a rather tops fake boyfriend.”

“God, Eames, really?” Arthur moans and swats at him.

Eames throws a leg over Arthur’s thighs and noses his neck. “Mm, you’re right. Must work on rectifying the ‘fake’ bit. Let’s say a shower, room service, and me blowing you while watching some old flick on Turner Classic Movies. Of course, I’ll pretend I’m only interested in what’s on the Telly.”

Arthur closes his eyes against a grin and runs a hand through his sweat-slicked hair. “You’re incorrigible.”

Eames kisses his earlobe, worrying it between his lips. “Mm, I’m just getting started. What say you to Tahiti for our second date? I rather fancy the thought of you fucking me in an over-the-water bungalow.”

Arthur bites the inside of his lip. "I think..." he pauses just long enough for Eames' open smile to fade and his eyes dim. "...how soon can you book that flight?"

Eames grins and playfully hits him in the chest.


End file.
